


careless whisper

by sten06



Series: Time After Time - Reigncorp Series [1]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - School, F/F, First Meeting, Flashback to past relationship, Fluff, Grad school years, handsome sam, i love these two angels, present day, slow dancing and karaoke, they went to MIT and they were amazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 10:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14042436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sten06/pseuds/sten06
Summary: sam and lena reunite in national city - flashbacks to their first meeting in grad school and some of their past friendship/relationship. a lot of feelings, because they are absolutely fantastic. also drunk karaoke and making out, because...obviously.





	careless whisper

**Author's Note:**

> this is the beginning of my self-indulgent series from reigncorp's grad school years. i have headcanons galore about their story, and it is amazing and delicious and sexy and heartbreaking all wrapped into one. i plan to just crank out randomly ordered one shots, most likely all titled after 80s ballads... i apologize for literally nothing. this is honestly for me because i love handsome sam and lena luthor way too much.
> 
> also yes there is a reigncorp playlist.

Lena cranes her neck to look up at the tall, imposing building holding court over Cordova drive: the one with a new namesake logo plastered to its iron side, ready to tell a million better stories than the ghosts of legacies past. It's the one that will serve as a beacon of hope in the not so distant future, with a strong hull ready to face the volatile tides of an unpredictable city.

She squares her shoulders and inhales sharply, almost defiantly, challenging the crisp night air to provoke her after a long, hectic day. But nothing comes. Just cool, quiet calm, and a distant ocean breeze from the west. The other buildings have shut down for the night, but L-Corp stays ever watchful like a lighthouse in the distance, beckoning a weary traveler home.

Her brand is far from where it needs to be, but at least Lena can feel the small spark of hope flicker deep in her soul when she sees the building now. It runs hot, and casts aside the wet and heavy feeling of dread that used to seep heavily into the young CEO’s bones. That’s an improvement, she admits, even if has taken longer than she’d like.

Her eyes flutter up to the top story where a singular light is burning late into the night, left on as if the rightful captain never left. She smiles, in spite of herself, as the pride uncharacteristically bursts from the confines of her chest and spreads a relentless heat along her body.

Overworking might run in the family, but it’s comforting to know that you can choose your family and still have some blended traits. At least the transition will be smooth, she thinks -- to any passersby on the street who casually glance up at her building, or any global investor lurking in their inbox and counting the minutes for a late night US reply -- no one will feel a difference. 

And that’s exactly how it should be, exactly how Lena needs it to be. Smooth, controlled, flawless. A hand off in the late night hours without so much as a hiccup.

Minutes later, she is walking quietly through the door to her office -- strangely, but not unfamiliarly-- occupied by someone else. She tentatively clears her throat to announce her entrance. 

Sam is sitting at her desk, and it fits in ways Lena can’t really explain. She’s transported to a time that seems more distant than it really is, back before broken hearts and broken families, when Sam would sit exactly like that, hunched over textbooks in her well-worn sweatshirt with an MIT logo across the chest, the hood pulled over her head as she studied. The person in front of Lena now sits up a little taller, with a crisp blazer and a freshly pressed tie, but still has the same intense concentration in her eyes. She looks the way Lena remembers, if not a bit more polished around the edges, a more grown up and experienced version of the girl Lena used to know. Lena catches herself wanting to smile at the way the sight still feels familiar after so much time has passed, but she quickly forces her mind back to the present. There is no sense in getting hung up on things that are no longer relevant, like Sam’s grad school attire and old, faded memories that Lena barely has time to let herself think about.

But oh, she remembers it fondly. And seeing Sam in front of her is just tangible proof that even after all they’ve been through, Lena’s chest will always fill with a special kind of warmth reserved only for her. Sam is still _that_ girl -- the one that thawed the pieces of Lena’s heart and taught her how to be whole again at a time when no one else could. And even if she has to stick to claiming Sam as a colleague, and reducing her role in Lena's life to a friend from the quiet past, then that's what Lena is content to do.

She will keep their story tucked away and out of sight; anything to keep Sam untarnished by Lena’s habit of ruining perfectly wonderful things. 

Lena walks slowly, smiling at the way Sam is still busily toiling over spreadsheets with a furrowed brow, the cap of her pen digging into her forehead in the way she always used to when she was younger and ruthlessly focused. Lena likes that she knows this, and likes that Sam still does it. She likes that even after so many years, some things can stay so constant. Safe. A well built ship in a stormy harbor that knows how to ebb and flow with waves of mistreatment and the harsh weather of unpredictable skies. That’s Sam, in a nutshell, and always has been, and Lena finds she still anchors herself to the feeling of stability like her life depends on it. 

“Hey stranger,” Lena says, a teasing tone that has a hint of sadness to it, tasting of the salt of lost years that never should have been lost in the first place. Nostalgia hides conspicuously behind the misty veil of sad jokes, sticking out at the ends as it so often does. Lena smiles and swallows it down, knowing that admitting her guilt would carry her heart out to sea, and she isn’t ready for what all that might mean.

“Hey!” Sam looks up from her work with a crinkled smile, and Lena can tell she’s stressed, and tired, but won’t try to show it. She tilts her head and looks at Lena again, this time with careful scrutiny. “Do you need something…?“

“No, I’m just here to see you, actually. Checking up on you after your first full day as my CFO,” Lena interrupts, holding up her hand in reassurance. Sam’s shoulders instantly ease from their previously tense posture. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, a beat too slow for it to be entirely honest. Lena waits, because she knows Sam, and knows she is incapable of sticking to a lie, no matter how small. “Busy,” she eventually adds with a sigh. She looks almost guilty, like Lena has caught her slacking off, of all things.

Sam turns back to her spreadsheet, and Lena proceeds to take a seat in front of the desk where her visitors normally go. It’s funny, to be on this side of things, but she doesn’t mind. Not in this scenario, when she knows someone capable is sitting in her chair. Sam continues to avoid her eyes, and Lena reaches her hand out and places it flat on the papers in front of her, purposefully putting it in the way of her view and forcing her to look up again.

“It’s almost midnight,” Lena admonishes. It’s hypocritical, and they both know it, especially when Sam’s gaze locks on hers looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“And these numbers aren’t going to calculate themselves.”

Sometimes they’re so similar, it makes Lena dizzy, like she’s talking to herself, which is tiring at best. It’s why they get along fiercely in some ways, and fight with blind rage in others. They’ve always been very equally matched in most things, and it drives Lena crazy in all sorts of ways. 

Lena regards her smugly.

“Do you remember Martinez’s class?” Lena finally asks. She pulls her hand back and crosses her arms, feeling the small smile that quirks on her lips, prompted by the stories already beginning to take shape in her head. This is the class they met in, and it’s one of Lena’s favorite thoughts to turn to when life is especially cruel. It’s been so long since they’ve reminisced, but now that Sam is here in front of her, Lena is desperate to know if she’s still, in some ways, _hers._

“Quantitative analysis,” Sam nods, leaning back in her chair. She closes her eyes for a second, a dreamlike smile on her face, before opening her eyes and practically preaning with silent bravado. It’s a look that Lena knows is well deserved, but sparks her competitive side, anyway. “God I was good at that.”

“Infuriatingly so,” Lena chuckles appreciatively, shaking her head. "But you were so focused."

“You _hated_ me,” Sam points out quickly, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the desk. The soft glow of the desk lamp quickly reflects off the deep richness of her eyes, a searchlight over dark water, and Lena is reminded of all the late nights they spent huddled in corners, whispering over library books and crossing out notes with enthusiastic (and often dramatic, on her part) flourishes. Sam’s eyes always had a way of being calm despite their depths, particularly during Lena’s most troubled times. It used to be maddening how they could settle her in any situation, turning her tumultuous habits into even keeled, practiced strokes with a few easy blinks.

They still seem to hold that same power, even now, and Lena sighs as she leans forward.

“I was definitely envious. No one should be _that_ good at statistics,” Lena admits, giving in to the temptation of Sam’s challenge. “But you were special, Sam. You _are_ special.”

“You were tough to crack,” Sam shakes her head, amusement wrinkling the corners of her mouth as she smiles. Lena knows that teasing smile well, and almost startles at how much she remembers it. “Still are, I’m pretty sure.”

“It’s part of my Luthor charm.” Her eyebrow upticks skyward of its own volition, and Sam nods knowingly.

“Cute.”

“You know, you’ve already proven yourself to me repeatedly,” Lena turns serious. She originally came here wanting to offer encouragement for this new endeavor that they’ve taken on, but bantering with Sam is so light and easy that it just comes naturally. And she’d be remiss if she ignores the voice in her head that tells her she _missed_ this. This closeness, and this familiarity. This piece of her past that doesn’t necessarily belong in cobwebbed corners, lost and forgotten. “There’s no one else I’d trust with this, okay?”

Sam nods, and she flashes a brighter smile, one that’s real and genuine and lights up her whole face. Instead of deflecting compliments with a bashful grin, the way Lena has a habit of doing, Sam tends to accept them head on, embracing them wholeheartedly and pulling them in close, like one of her world famous hugs.

There is so much about Sam that Lena wishes she could be, but she knows it’s her own insecurity talking. Sam has never made her feel like she is anything short of fantastic, on any given day, even when she really, really doesn’t deserve it. Even now, with years between them and silence that has stretched longer than it should have, Sam is here with barely an inch of persuasion. Where on the outside it might seem like Lena is doing her a favor with this job, they both know, with unspoken words, that this is Sam saving Lena _yet again_. Still, she doesn’t pry or ask for explanations, or make Lena feel incompetent in asking for help. It’s the only way Lena knows how to ask, when there isn’t a threat of it coming around later to make her do things she will regret.

That’s the thing about Sam. She’s never been one to keep a score sheet.

Lena returns Sam’s smile, and glances toward the opposite side of the office with a conspiratorial grin.

“So that being said, let’s take a break and celebrate a little,” Lena says, standing up slowly and gesturing toward a set of locked cabinets. Sam watches her curiously. “Your first successful full day, and a slightly delayed welcome to National City!”

“Oh, I shouldn’t--” Sam deflects, but Lena notes the way she’s already standing, stretching her long limbs from being cramped in the office all day. It’s a half-hearted decline that won’t take any further convincing.

“Believe me, there will still be plenty of work to tackle tomorrow,” Lena says, turning her attention to several wine bottles that she keeps stored for safekeeping. Moderately priced reds, nothing too fancy, just enough in stock should surprise guests drop in. Or, in this case, should she drop in as the late night visitor to a long lost friend. She selects the bottle of Amarone and turns to present it to Sam. “And since when do you turn down good wine?" 

“I should have known you’d have a stash,” Sam says, eyeing the bottle with a smile. 

“Are you calling me a lush, Samantha?” Lena teases, glancing up at Sam while she uncorks the bottle with a few graceful movements.

“That’s not what the L stands for in L-Corp?” 

Lena chuckles, shaking her head at Sam’s cheeky comments, letting them swirl around like the velvety red liquid she’s pouring from the bottle. It has been too long since someone could look Lena in the eye and call her out in jest, unafraid of hurting her feelings or misconstruing the meaning behind her snarky one liners. But that’s always been Sam: unabashedly confident and never intimidated by Lena Luthor. 

She takes the two generously filled glasses and walks carefully over to the table in front of her couch. She places them down gently and returns to bring the rest of the bottle.

“We’ve come a long way from the days of 2 buck chuck, huh?” Sam asks, reaching for her glass and swirling the contents with an appreciative hum. She peeks at the label and nods with approval. 

“Well, some of us have,” Lena shrugs, taking her own glass and staring pointedly back at her friend.

“Wine snob.” Sam rolls her eyes, pointing her glass in Lena’s direction. “I had a beer budget in those days, okay?”

“I’d like to think your salary now can make up for it,” Lena tilts her head with the verbal checkmate and Sam just shrugs in agreement.

The truth is, the good wine is only for appearances. Lena’s apartment is still stocked with the cheap stuff as a small ode to the days when she can remember being the happiest. The days when Sam would forcibly drag her from the lab and procure bottles of wine that were practically vinegar and they would go sit at the top of the bleachers of the old stadium and talk about the things they hoped to accomplish in the future. They’d argue and laugh and talk about foolish dreams and their past mistakes. Sometimes Sam would break out her old beat up guitar and sing into the night, and Lena would just close her eyes and listen to the lyrics and pretend she could be whoever she wanted. They’d huddle close together when the weather turned, and they’d whisper confessions that Lena barely remembers because they are wine stained and wind blown, but she knows in her heart that they are still floating in the chilly air somewhere over Boston.

“Nice shoes,” Sam gestures, as they circle the small table in front of the white couch. Instead of taking a seat like a buttoned up employee, Sam sprawls out on the shag carpet in front of it and rests her back against the frame. Her blazer hangs open as she loosens her tie and fumbles with the top two buttons of her shirt. Lena’s cheeks flush at the way Sam still has a habit of making every space she occupies feel more comfortable than it really is. “You still drink in impossibly high heels?”

Lena’s eyes dramatically roll to the ceiling, before she looks back down at Sam with a wicked grin. She flexes her feet in reaction, the tendons protesting angrily against her Louboutins.

“Just thought we’d learned our lesson, you know?” Sam continues, a sly smile on her lips. A breath hitches in Lena’s throat, from the joking way she says it, to all the waves of memories that it seems to call forward. She feels them crash and break over her suddenly, leaving her momentarily powerless to respond. She shakes her head to gather herself. 

“Alright, smartass.” Lena bends and takes off one shoe, then unceremoniously kicks off the other, the way she used to after excruciatingly long days spent trying to wrangle investors to support their garage level pipe dreams. Even back then, letting her hair down and kicking off her shoes always came in response to Sam’s easy influence and snappy grin begging her to just ‘ _relax, Lena, please’_. “Better?” 

Sam smirks in response and kicks off her own shoes from her position on the floor. She shifts slightly as Lena maneuvers to take the spot next to her, careful to keep her wine glass in an upright position and her dress from shifting up her thighs. They sit with their legs sprawled out, barefoot and free, their shoulders barely touching as Lena studies her glass intently. It’s been ages since she’s done this. Even though it’s something so simple -- letting her hair down in her office and sitting on the floor -- but the act of being unguarded feels foreign to her. Sam leans comfortably into the space next to her, her body angled in such a way that Lena presses into her slightly, and she immediately feels her limbs relax without any further convincing. 

The scar on her left foot seems to stand out prominently tonight, jagged and harsh like a battle wound on a pirate’s cheek. It runs vertically for several long inches along the top of her foot, the pink contrasting starkly with her ivory skin. Maybe it’s more pronounced because she’s thinking about it for the first time in years, or maybe it’s just always been obvious, but when she glances over, she catches Sam staring at it, too. Lena notices the way Sam’s cheeks flush slightly, and she feels the way her own face heats up in response.

It’s a scar that leaves a permanent reminder of two paths colliding one fateful night in late October, years ago when Lena yearned to break free of her name and all of its implications. Two paths crossing, like ships in the night, that would have ordinarily gone by without significance, until one accidentally changed course and stubbornly fell into the arms of the other.

Xxxxxxx

Boston is chilly in October, particularly at night when the sun has long dipped below the horizon and the winds start to pick up off the river. It isn’t unpleasant, in fact, most nights Lena revels in the impending reminder that winter is on the way. But tonight, with a skimpy black dress and only the comfort of too much whiskey in her system to keep her warm, Lena thinks Boston might just be the worst place on Earth.

She stumbles out of the loud, smoky bar and into the frigid night, gasping audibly and rubbing her arms as soon as her skin makes contact with the air. She hadn’t really been paying attention when she left for the evening, her only goal being that she wanted to get away from campus for a few hours in order to clear her head and drown her sorrows. Normally she would have just stayed home, but drinking alone is only poetic to a certain point, and then it becomes downright pathetic.

She could have gone to one of the many parties she hadn’t exactly been invited to, but that takes effort and social energy she isn’t sure she has right now. Sure, she _knows_ people, and probably could have made friends if she was so inclined. But she wasn’t, so she didn’t. She isn’t like her brother. Charm and pleasantries take _work_ , and after a long week, she simply doesn’t have the strength for either of those things. She barely has enough energy to get herself home, to be honest, and this is all starting to become way more trouble than it’s worth. She glances up and down the empty street looking vainly for a cab at the devil’s hour, before crossing her arms and picking up the pace in order to ward off the chill from the angry wind swirling around her.

Suddenly Lena feels terribly lonely, and it’s familiar but tragically inconvenient since there’s nothing she can do about it now. Her whole life has been an ode to loneliness, so there’s no reason to lament over a particular chorus tonight.

She continues to walk haphazardly, the alcohol kicking in at precisely the wrong time and severely impacting her ability to continue in a straight line. As she stops to gather herself, there’s a movement in her periphery that causes her to turn around quickly. She’s pretty sure it’s nothing of consequence, just another random person out and about on a Friday, but there’s something familiar in the shadow’s steps that makes Lena pause. 

Lena recognizes her immediately, despite the fact that everything is slightly watery and blurred with inebriation and stress. It’s the same girl she keeps seeing everywhere she goes, in every class, in every lecture, in every corner of campus, almost like Lena’s own personal shadow. She laughs to herself, or possibly out loud, at how absurd it is, because of course she would be here right now. This girl with the friendly face, and the warm summer smile, staring at her like she might actually be genuinely nice. Lena knows better than to get caught up in that type of scam. People aren’t nice for the hell of it, they’re nice because they want something, or because they have no other choice.

Lena wants to be nice. She thinks she might have been, once. But she can’t remember, and her brain is too foggy to try to think too hard about anything besides putting one foot in front of the other as she teeters doe-like on high heels and unsteady ankles. 

Her phone buzzes and she reaches clumsily to get it. 

[Lex]: Making friends yet? 

The girl looks over and starts walking in Lena’s direction, but Lena ignores her. She thinks her name might be Sam, and even if it isn’t, that’s what she’s going to stick with. She's in loose jeans and a leather jacket, which is an oversimplification, but Lena tries not to think about how ordinarily that would be exactly the type of girl she'd try to cozy up to.

Casually, she fumbles over her phone and types out a careful, sober response.

[Lena]: I’m with my friend Sam 

Maybe she isn’t even real. Maybe Lena is finally coming wildly unhinged and this is turning into a remake of a Beautiful Mind, where soon she won’t be able to tell the difference between reality and her own hallucinations. An imaginary friend! That would just be something, wouldn’t it? The thought of Lillian’s reaction to her adopted daughter’s madness almost makes the entire thing so entertaining that Lena forgets to be upset for a second.   

It’s dramatic, even for her, and she chuckles to herself, the sound abrupt enough to wake herself up from such deep brooding. 

_Not now, Lena._

The voice that scolds her, even when she’s drunk, is Lillian’s callous, cold tone, and it sends a shiver down her already braced spine. She keeps walking, desperate to outwalk all the demons that seem to be keeping her company.

Maybe the loneliness was better. At least it didn’t sound like her mother.

Before she can even think about where to turn next, her feet are moving faster than her brain and the sidewalk is dangerously close to her face. There’s a sickening crack, and her foot is exploding with white hot, sizzling fire. 

“Fuck!” 

Lena hits the pavement hard, her hands scraping along as she tumbles off the curb in a chaotic flurry of splayed limbs and profanity. When she looks up, she’s staring into the deepest brown eyes she’s ever seen.

“Woah, easy there! Are you okay?” The stranger -- _is she even a stranger?_ \-- asks. “Those are some serious shoes you’ve got there!” 

Lena swears she hears the girl whistle, and the hair on the back of her neck stands up in violent protest. 

“I’m fine.” She’s absolutely furious, to the point where she doesn’t even feel the pain in her foot anymore. She just wants this girl to stop looking at her like she’s some broken doll who needs a caretaker. Lena is a lot of things -- currently, a little sloppy and a little rough --  but _helpless_ certainly isn’t part of the equation. 

“Are you sure? Your foot---” Sam starts, but Lena cuts her off immediately by swatting at her extended hand. She struggles on her own to get back to standing, very aware of Sam’s offensively watchful eyes and the way she kneels and keeps her arms extended, ready to catch her if she should fall. For some reason, the action is more annoying than anything, because Lena certainly doesn’t need some random stranger acting like a walker for her, even at this desperate juncture. Eventually after several shaky attempts, she manages to get back to standing upright. She flashes a triumphant, snarky smile at Sam, who narrows her eyes like she’s trying to figure out what exactly she’s looking at.

Meanwhile, Lena knows her left foot is completely useless as she lets it dangle from her leg like a piece of heavy cement. She tries to gingerly to put her weight on it -- more to prove a point than to actually get anywhere -- but it has already swollen to twice the normal size. As soon as she touches it to the ground, it explodes into more pain. 

An angry groan escapes her mouth in response.

“That looks really painful--” Sam tries again, but Lena is quick to cut her off.

“I don’t need you to take care of me, alright? Just go!” she snaps, fully expecting Sam to give up by now. This is already longer than any normal, sane person would try to pursue her, and frankly, it’s getting ridiculous. Sam doesn’t flinch at the way Lena spews venom, she simply stares patiently with a quirked smile.

“If you say so...” Sam shrugs, standing fully. _Good_.

Lena watches her keenly as she seems to rise up to the heavens. Was she _always_ this tall? Sam practically towers over her, and her legs go on for a full year, in Lena’s whiskey-altered estimation, but nothing is really making much sense at the moment. All Lena can think about is the hot, stinging pain behind her eyes and how she desperately needs to collapse into her bed and forget this entire night even happened.

Her cramped, uncomfortable bed in an old brownstone apartment that is at least 10 blocks from here, on the 4th floor of a 5 floor walk up. 

Fuck. 

Lena bristles at the severity of her situation, before clenching her jaw in defiance. The rage swirls in her chest again, causing all of her muscles to tense like they’re preparing for a physical altercation. She starts to walk away, giving up on even trying to use her left foot and resigning herself to hopping a few steps before grunting in frustration. She removes her other high heel and starts bouncing a few more steps before she hears the same voice call out again.

“Just let me help you.”

Sam almost seems like she’s teasing her, and that just makes Lena more determined to fight.

“No!” 

“So you’re going to hop all the way to the hospital?” Sam asks, taking a few easy steps that already puts her even with Lena’s path.

“Why do you _care_ so much?” Lena stops and faces her again. She notices the way Sam is still smiling, and she just wants to ask her what the hell is so funny. But then she remembers that she’s barefoot, drunk, and just fell off a curb, so that is at least three things for someone to find amusing.  

“I really don’t, but it’s going to be hilarious to watch. I’m just wondering if I should start taking a video now or...” 

“Don’t you dare!” Lena shouts, pointing at her like she’s going to actually be able to stop her. Sam has several inches on her, two working feet, and seems marginally less drunk. The odds are not in her favor, but Lena doesn’t particularly care at the moment.

“Relax, I’m kidding, see? No phone.” Sam raises her hands in the air. “Just please let me help you.”

“Oh my God, do you ever quit?” Lena tosses her head back in exasperation, like having someone care about her well being is the worst thing that could possibly be happening right now.

“If something happens to you, I’ll feel terrible,” Sam says, her voice turning softer and more delicate. Lena looks and notices her smile is gone. “How am I supposed to just walk away now?”

“Pretend you didn’t see me, it’s not that hard.” Lena shrugs. It works for most people in her life, so this shouldn’t be asking for much. She really can’t stand much more of this, and the idea of having to owe this stranger something later on down the road makes the bile rise in her throat.

“It’s way too late for that,” Sam argues, placing her hands on her hips. Lena wants to know what that means, and why it’s too late, and just how long she’s been _seen_ by Sam, but all her thoughts get jumbled in a chaotic mess when she sees the muscles in Sam’s forearms flexing slightly. She’s sturdy, and she’s not going anywhere, and Lena thinks she would be slightly charmed if she wasn’t so annoyed at herself for getting into this situation in the first place.

“What are you even doing out here? Are you following me?” Lena asks quickly, because really, what _is_ this girl doing out alone on a Friday? Lena has her own reasons for being pathetic, but this girl seems a little more of the ‘out with friends’ kind. Not that she’s thought about it, or is thinking about it. But it just seems odd, is all.

“Yeah, I am,” Sam says, and it catches Lena by surprise how she isn’t even trying to cover it up. She expects some half-assed story about waiting for friends or _something_ remotely plausible to explain the fact that Sam is out on the street in the middle of the night at the same time as Lena. Instead she gets...this.  

“Wait, what?”

“You left the bar alone, in the middle of the night, and you’re completely wasted. Now, I don’t really claim to be the best at making decisions, but that seemed like a really stupid one,” Sam crosses her arms and stares her down with a serious face. “So I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“My fucking hero.” Lena dramatically clutches her chest and pretends to swoon. The movement and the fact that she’s already on one foot causes her to stumble a bit, directly into open and waiting arms. Lena’s face gets buried in Sam’s chest, and she inhales sharply against the impact. 

Sam smells like whiskey and cinnamon, which is pleasant, but it makes no sense and just makes Lena’s head hurt more. She hangs limply for a minute, debating with herself. This is a useless battle, and she will be stuck here all night if she doesn’t just let Sam help her, whatever that means. She isn’t sure what Sam is going to actually do, but as soon as she gathers herself and allows Sam to support her weight, she feels herself softening a bit.

“Are you always like this?” Lena asks, hobbling and pushing into Sam’s surprisingly strong grip as she steps forward. 

“Like what?” 

“So…” Lena pauses, frustrated that the words aren’t coming as easily as they normally do. “...annoyingly nice?”

“Oh this isn’t even the half of it,” Sam says easily. She doesn’t even break stride as she keeps a perfect pace for Lena’s struggling limbs. “Next time, I might just hug you to death.”

“Great,” Lena mumbles. She stops for a second, wincing briefly and staring up at the sky. The pain is viciously gnawing around her ankle, scratching and scraping up the rest of her leg and making her vision tunnel slightly. She grits her teeth and rides it out, refusing to shed a tear. Lena hates crying, and really hates the idea of crying right now, in front of Sam. A wave of nausea takes over in full force and for a few terrifying seconds she’s afraid she’s going to lose control completely and throw up, or burst into tears, or both. 

It eventually passes, and she glances over at Sam to see if she’s watching her with her stupid, dopey face and big doe eyes, but instead she’s staring straight ahead and absentmindedly adjusting the maroon colored beanie on her head, as if she understands that her scrutiny isn’t welcome. 

Lena relaxes somewhat.

“And you?” Sam asks, continuing in the conversation as if Lena never took a pause.

“What?”

“Are you always so….” Sam pauses, imitating Lena’s frown, “... annoyingly stubborn?” The airy chuckle returns in her tone, and without looking, Lena knows she isn’t completely serious. It’s funny how this girl has no problem speaking her mind despite who she is speaking to, like this is casual and Lena could be any random classmate without consequence.

 _Maybe she doesn’t know who I am,_ Lena thinks. For one beautiful, glorious second, Lena almost smiles. Maybe Sam doesn’t know she’s Lena Luthor, and the thought makes her almost giddy with hope. 

“You have no idea,” Lena grins, delirious now with the idea of being whoever she wants to be. 

“Great,” Sam parrots back. 

They carry on for a few more paces, forced to stop every couple of hobbles for Lena to catch her breath and keep the contents of her stomach from sloshing unpleasantly.

“I could just carry you, you know,” Sam points out during another pit stop. Lena just scowls.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“It will be much faster,” Sam contends, shrugging. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m _loving_ our time together, I just thought I’d offer.”

She still has that same teasing smile, and Lena rolls her eyes.

“You won’t be able to lift me,” Lena scoffs, shaking her head. Sam is limbs for days and built like a skyscraper, but that’s a long way to fall if she’s all talk. Lena has already taken enough faceplants for the evening.

“Wanna bet?” 

“I don’t want to bankrupt you,” Lena challenges, her eyebrow quirking as she gives Sam a once over. Before she can say anything else, Sam easily places her hands around Lena’s hips and lifts her off the ground, tossing her over her shoulder like a sack of rice. The entire movement is fluid and controlled, and causes seemingly no strain on Sam’s part, but Lena is absolutely shocked. Some strange things have happened in her life, but no one has ever just thrown her over their shoulder before. Especially not someone she’s barely met. 

She slaps Sam’s back with her hands. 

“Are you fucking serious?!” Lena yells, flailing awkwardly over Sam’s shoulder. 

“Looks like it.” 

“I swear if you don’t put me down--!” 

Sam laughs -- she actually _laughs_ \-- before shifting Lena carefully back into her arms, cradling her in a more suitable position. She’s surprisingly gentle, and her body is warm which is a pleasant change from the frigid night air. Sam raises her eyebrows as if to say ‘ _told you so_ ’, but her face is so genuine and soft that Lena forgets to be angry. Instead, she feels the way Sam’s muscles flex against her skin, and without further protest, she carelessly wraps her arms around Sam’s neck.

All the hostility practically melts from her body as she allows herself to be wrapped up in Sam’s arms. Lena feels inexplicably safe, which doesn’t make any sense because she doesn’t even know this girl. Not really. She’s just some stranger that she’s seen on campus a bunch of times who up until five seconds ago was practically a figment of Lena’s wild imagination.

“Guess you’re real after all,” Lena mumbles into Sam’s shirt, and she means to think it but instead she blurts it out loud. 

“Sorry?” 

“You’re weirdly strong,” Lena amends, slurring her words only slightly.

“Thanks.”

Sam walks casually, like she’s strolling down the street completely unencumbered instead of holding an actual person in her arms, but Lena just rests her head on her shoulder and allows it to happen. Her foot is in terrible shape, and she’s already starting to feel hungover which is rotten luck since the night hasn’t even ended yet.

“I’m Lena, by the way,” she says quietly after a few minutes. It’s a peace offering, in none so many words, but it’s an introduction that she doesn’t ordinarily give freely.

 “Yeah, I know,” Sam replies. Lena tenses immediately. “We’re in almost every single class together.”

“Oh.”

“I’m Sam.” _So it is._ Lena doesn’t think she cares, but she finds herself strangely glad that she is correct about knowing Sam’s name.

“Yeah, I know,” Lena echoes. She looks up at her just as Sam takes a quick glance down. Their eyes meet, and Sam smiles. She scrunches her nose and Lena almost wants to think she’s really cute when she does it.

“Good.”

The following Monday, Lena watches Sam walk into their lecture class and take her usual seat by the door. She looks different in the light of day -- still tall and lean, with the same hat sitting back over the crown of her head, but there’s something else, too -- like she’s been freshly plucked from somewhere warm and sunny and placed in this setting specifically so she can liven up the room. Lena looks around cautiously, wondering if anyone else has noticed Sam, or has noticed _her_ noticing Sam, but everyone seems preoccupied.  

Lena waits for awhile, trying to decide if she should really do this, before she realizes that she’s already hit rock bottom. There will never be anything she can do in front of Sam that will be more embarrassing than her drunken disaster on Friday. She limps over to where Sam is rummaging through her bag and clears her throat as she stands awkwardly next to her. Her broken foot is in a hideous walking boot, serving as a gaudy reminder of her drunken mishap. She wishes she could cover it, but she supposes this is part of the punishment for her bad behavior. 

“Hey,” Lena says, shifting awkwardly and staring around the room before finally letting her gaze rest on Sam’s face.

“Oh wow, that looks like it hurts, did you fall?” Sam asks, feigning ignorance and staring at Lena with concern. She nods at Lena’s cast, before her face breaks into a predictable, knowing smile. 

Not only did Sam carry her the rest of the way to the hospital, but she sat with her for three hours while they waited for Lena to be attended to, then waited on top of that for someone to take X-rays. Even with Lena’s repeated insistence every half hour that she should go to bed, Sam stayed, and stayed, and stayed some more without complaint until Lena was finally discharged with a diagnosis of a very broken foot, a follow up appointment and a prescription for some semi-decent pain medicine. 

“Shut up,” Lena stares at her open-mouthed before she finally remembers why she came over in the first place. She pulls the lavender flowers -- Hyacinths, for an apology, though she doubts Sam will know or care about that small detail --  from behind her back. “These are for you.”

“I--” Sam starts, blinking in confusion. She looks at the flowers and back at Lena with a frown that looks so strangely awkward on her cheerful face that Lena almost wants to take them back and pretend she didn’t make such a stupid gesture. “You-- you didn’t have to do that!”

“I was rude to you,” Lena explains, trying to act nonchalant. She meets Sam’s eyes again with a sheepish half smile. “I’m not always like that." 

_I am, actually, but I’m trying really hard not to be._

“Only sometimes?” Sam grins, like she can hear Lena’s thoughts. She reaches out with delicate fingers and takes the flowers from Lena’s hands. She sniffs them with a long inhale, and her eyes flutter closed in delight.

“Only with people I don’t know,” Lena says, and Sam’s eyes open again. “Or after too much whiskey. You just happened to catch me with both.”

“Must have been lucky, then,” Sam says with a wink, and the way she does it makes Lena think she isn’t even being sarcastic. She holds out her hand and Lena stares at her curiously before taking it with a limp grip.

“I’m Sam,” she says, grinning. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Lena suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and instead just offers a timid smile.

“Lena.” 

“Well, now you know me.” Sam shrugs at this, like it’s really that simple. _Now you know me_. Lena wants to believe that’s true, but she doesn’t know her, not really. Not yet. She thinks she might want to, though. There’s just something about Sam that is intriguing enough for Lena to want to understand her. Like how everything just seems to roll off her back in such an easy way that it causes Lena to feel a prickle of jealousy. She wonders if Sam even has a care in the world, but it seems unlikely considering the way she seems completely unaffected in comparison to Lena’s every day chaotic emotional rollercoaster.  

Sam stares at the flowers again and sighs. “I know your game, Lena Luthor.”

“What?” Lena freezes for a second, her body rigid as she takes her hand back from Sam’s warm grip. Her stomach plummets like she’s been caught, though for what, she isn’t quite sure. Perhaps she has placed too much faith in this girl already, even though she’s only been nice to her for the past five minutes.

“You’re not as mean as you think you are.”

“I--that’s not--” Lena feels a shameful blush creeping along her cheeks, and she wonders for a horrifying second what she must look like to Sam. She clears her throat insistently and clenches her jaw. “You don’t know what I am.”

“Guess I’ll have to learn,” Sam beams at her, like this is an actual exciting prospect, and Lena really does roll her eyes this time. She ignores the way she wants to smile, because this is completely unexpected and it’s all just too much right now for her to go into. “By the way, these are my favorite,” Sam states, returning her focus back to the flowers. “Hyacinths.”

“Really?” Lena’s heart skips a full beat this time.

“Yeah, really.” 

For some reason, Lena believes that she means it, and when Sam nods to the seat next to her, Lena can’t find any excuse to say no. 

Xxxxxx

“Cheers,” Sam exclaims, holding out her glass and leaning a little closer to Lena.

“To you,” Lena replies, the glasses clinking together in a joyful reunion.

“To us,” Sam corrects, looking at her knowingly, the twinge of a charming smile still plastered on her face. “You’ve done some amazing things here, Lena. I knew you would. I’m so excited to be part of it.”

They take their sips in silence after that, Sam’s words of encouragement leaving a bitter taste that cascades sharply down Lena’s throat, followed eagerly by the smooth finish of the wine. In the days leading up to Sam’s arrival in National City, Lena has tried to prepare for any scenario, as she is known to do. Everything from Sam being cold and distant, to hesitant and awkward, but she never expected _this_. Sam, her Sam, just as she always was: warm and content and so willing to accept Lena back into her life as if nothing ever happened between them. She should have known this would be the way of it, but to have Sam here gushing over Lena’s success like it’s something well deserved sits heavily in Lena’s coiling stomach. 

They have so much to talk about, and it will never be the right time, but Lena wonders if the hard part is already over. Sam’s already proved she’s willing to help, to be here next to Lena like it’s a perfectly natural occurrence. That’s a lot further than Lena could have hoped to get.

“That scar is badass,” Sam muses after a few minutes. “It healed pretty well, all things considered.”

“Yeah, thanks to you getting me to the hospital that night,” Lena says. “I probably would have been walking on that broken foot for weeks before getting it checked out myself.”

“You know, I don’t think you’ve ever actually admitted that before,” Sam teases, looking over her wine glass with a smug smile. “National City has turned you soft.”

Lena lets her head roll back as she stares up at the ceiling. Maybe she is turning soft. Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing. She smiles as she lets Sam’s comment mull over in her mind.

“You know, you could have just called me a cab that night,” Lena says, still staring at the ceiling, avoiding Sam’s eyes.

“And miss out on throwing you over my shoulder? Never!” Sam declares, and just like that, Lena is chuckling, and Sam is smiling, and everything just feels _right._

It’s just so easy after that. Sam tells Lena story after story of one amusing thing after the other, from coworkers she’s had to deal with, to old mutual acquaintances they used to have in common. Lena listens quietly, smiling as old memories fill her up and ignoring the lump in her throat at not being around for the past few years. When Sam starts to talk about Ruby, Lena’s smile falters. 

“How is she?” Lena asks quietly, her eyes fluttering guiltily to the floor. It isn’t that she doesn’t care -- quite the opposite, in fact. Lena adores Ruby. She has loved that little girl with more of herself than she ever thought she _could_ love a child that isn’t hers. The guilt weighing heavily on her shoulders comes from the fact that she should know the answer to this question, and all the other questions when it comes to her best friend’s daughter. She should be able to tell Sam stories about the shenanigans she lets Ruby get up to under her care, and she should be buying her ridiculous birthday presents and acting shocked when Sam gives her a dramatic and disapproving frown. Instead, she’s a stranger with good intentions, and even though it’s for the best, there is still something in Lena’s chest that aches with regret. 

“She’s great -- she’s getting so big. I feel like everytime I blink she’s at another milestone. Pretty soon she’ll be off to college herself and I’ll be a sobbing mess,” Sam gushes, reaching for her phone. If she’s miffed about Lena’s absence in their lives, she’s great at hiding it, because the next thing Lena knows, she’s staring at a photo of a mini version of Sam eating an ice cream cone and laughing at something off camera. 

“She’s beautiful,” Lena breathes, not expecting her to look so much different. But Ruby has grown so much, and her face looks so much like Sam’s that Lena does a quick double take. She unconsciously reaches for the phone herself, touching Ruby’s pixelated cheek in the process. 

Their fingers graze as Sam hands over the device, and Lena isn’t sure if she actually gets shocked or it’s all in her mind, but her fingers twitch with an unexpected zap of energy. When she looks back at the phone again, she realizes the photo has accidentally scrolled to another -- what Lena presumes is toward the beginning of Sam’s camera roll, considering the content -- because she’s suddenly met with a grainy reflection of her younger self, wrapped in a jacket in the pouring rain and looking away from the camera at Sam’s laughing face.

“Oh my God, Sam! I can’t believe you still have this!” Lena exclaims, pulling the phone closer and staring with her mouth open. Lena remembers the night like it was yesterday, and her cheeks immediately flush as more specific memories from that night come to mind. She chances a glance at Sam, who looks amused as always and Lena tries to deflect. “Did I really wear my hair like that?”

“You looked good,” Sam shrugs, taking back her phone and looking at the picture herself. The soft lines around her eyes shift as she smiles, and Lena decides she loves that Sam still has this picture on her phone. “My jacket fit you better than it fit me.”

Lena wonders if Sam’s looked at this picture recently, and then immediately regrets that she hopes the answer is yes.

“You flatter me,” Lena settles with then, returning to their conversation as if her mind isn’t taking obnoxious detours. She doesn’t deserve Sam’s _pining_ , and it’s shameful to even hope for it.  

“You always look good,” Sam shrugs, like it’s really just that simple. “Wait!” she exclaims, her eyes widening with that conspiratorial look that Lena knows means something ridiculous is going to happen. She waits as Sam fumbles a bit and then finally holds her phone up in triumph as a song starts to play from the speakers. Cyndi Lauper’s voice starts to echo through the room and Sam starts swaying a little to the beat. “Ha! Do you remember this song?”

“How could I forget?” Lena playfully rolls her eyes, and places a lazy hand on Sam’s thigh. “You never could hold a tune.” That part isn't true in the least, but Lena can't help teasing Sam simply to get a rise out of her. In reality, Sam's voice is hypnotizing and always on pitch, the perfect combination of low and soulful. Sometimes there are nights when Lena can't sleep and she thinks about the way Sam would sit with her and sing into the early morning hours just to get Lena to smile.

It always worked. 

“That’s your whiskey memory talking, I was _fantastic_ ,” Sam insists, her smile growing larger as she leans in closer to Lena’s touch. The movement isn’t lost on Lena. "You just had bad taste in music _and_ alcohol.”

“And friends, apparently.” 

“I thought Luthors didn’t have friends? Or so I’ve been told _repeatedly_ ,” Sam emphasizes the last word with a tilt of her wine glass in Lena’s direction.

“We don’t--” Lena starts, and Sam rolls her head dramatically to the side and interrupts her with an outstretched finger placed directly on her mouth. Lena’s breath hitches in her throat at the way Sam touches her lips and she shuts up immediately. 

“Alright drama queen, drink your wine,” Sam quips, watching her with amusement.

“You’re still impossible,” Lena returns, sipping her wine and raising a pointed eyebrow over her glass.

“You’re still a brat,” Sam says easily, with an endearing smile that makes it hard to be mad at. She looks back at the photo of the two of them huddled together in the rain. “I should have let you get soaked.” 

“Is that any way to talk to your _boss_?” Lena replies, and Sam bursts out laughing so hard that Lena swears there are tears actually coming down her cheeks.

Xxxxxxx

Lena turns over her exam with a frustrated huff. She can already feel the heavy stress knotting and twisting in her muscles as she rubs at her neck haphazardly, her fingers kneading uselessly into aches that seem to be permanent parts of her body. Weeks of caffeine-fueled late nights and arguing with Sam tirelessly over theorems (and the occasional recipe because Sam has a penchant for getting distracted and looking up strange food combinations on the internet, “for science, Lena!”) have finally begun to catch up with her. She wishes she could stop for a _second_ , maybe do something mindless like watch a TV show or read a book for fun or something absolutely insane like take a nap, but there’s no time. In fact, her restless anxiety is only fueled by fatigue, waiting in the wings and whispering that she’s perpetually falling behind. It sounds suspiciously like Lillian, ever present with a scalding reminder of her shortcomings as an “almost” Luthor. Her brother would have finished this exam in his sleep and then would have had time to tinker with his own side inventions before having to go back and study, whereas Lena is lucky if she can even remember to eat something a few times a week.

She turns in her sloppy work with a frown, convinced that all her answers are wrong and she’s going to need to do months of extra work to pull even. Maybe she’ll have to sell an organ. Or, better yet, she’ll have to create a self-sufficient replacement for organs and save the lives of countless people on transplant recipient lists.

That’s sure to earn her an A for the semester, right?

The stress claws at her stomach, or maybe that’s just her appetite, but either way she starts to feel slightly nauseous as she makes her way across campus to the lab. If she’s lucky, she can get a head start before the weekend and then she might be able to sneak in a few extra hours of sleep on Sunday. 

She also might get struck by lightning. She isn’t sure which option is more appealing at the moment.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Sam calls out behind her. Lena doesn’t stop walking. Not because she doesn’t hear her, but because she really, really can’t afford to be distracted right now. Not that it matters. She knows Sam’s long legs will catch up to her no matter what she does.

Sure enough, within seconds, Sam is strolling next to her, placing a warm hand on her shoulder and slowing her pace.

“Hey! Where’s the fire?” Sam asks, her eyes darting around looking genuinely concerned. She fixes her gaze back on Lena’s face and shakes her head. “Please tell me you aren’t going where I think you’re going.”

“Yeah, I am. I have a ton of work to catch up on, or have you forgotten all the assignments we’ve let pile up while getting distracted with your food concoctions?” Lena huffs, tilting her head as she stares up at Sam.

“For your information, that soufflé was very scientific,” Sam replies, her smile flickering slightly as she takes in Lena’s face.

“Right, well it did wonders for me on that exam,” Lena shakes her head and turns to keep walking. Sam walks with her slowly and doesn’t say anything else, existing calmly in silence until Lena feels her shoulders sag under the stress of her bad mood. She stops walking and turns to Sam, her eyes still trained on the ground. She’s afraid if she looks at Sam’s cheerful face, she might inexplicably burst into tears, and that’s just unacceptable. “I bombed that test, Sammy.”

“No, you didn’t,” Sam shuffles closer and squeezes Lena’s shoulder gently.

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re _you_.” Sam looks down at her with a soft smile, her hair curtaining over her face just enough to fall into her eyes. It causes her to run her fingers through it slowly, and Lena notices she isn't wearing her hat for once. Her hair is sun-kissed and so lovely that Lena finds she doesn’t miss it at all. “You don’t fail.” 

“You should tell that to my mother,” Lena chuckles softly. She doesn’t believe a word Sam says in regards to her intellectual prowess, but the attempt boosts her spirits at least slightly.

Sometimes Sam really is nice just for the sake of being nice, and Lena is still not completely used to it, but she likes the _idea_ of it. A lot.

“One day I will, don’t test me,” Sam says adamantly. “But c’mon. There’s nothing that you absolutely need to get done tonight. You need to unwind and relax, mostly for your own sanity...which is why you should come out with me! I’d really like the company….”

“But -- “ 

“The test is done. You can’t do anything but move forward, and I can almost guarantee you didn’t do as badly as you think,” Sam raises her eyebrows, stopping Lena’s rebuttal in its tracks. “So do me this favor, come out tonight, and I promise I’ll go with you to the lab tomorrow. Let’s just take a break. One night, okay?” 

Lena knows she will probably regret this, but it’s really hard to say no to Sam when she’s standing right there, looking so excited about something as mundane as spending an evening with her. The selfish part of Lena revels in it, because no one has ever purposely sought her out and tried so hard to spend time with her before, at least not without ulterior motives. Instead, Sam is bouncing excitedly like Lena is an obvious choice and not a consolation prize.

Lena sighs, but mostly just for dramatic effect.

“Fine, but I don’t know why you’re so hung up on me joining you, I’m not going to be great company,” she says, and Sam flicks her wrist at Lena as if to swat away that notion.

“You act like that’s different from any other time,” Sam jokes, and Lena crosses her arms with a defiant and carefully placed eyebrow raise. Sam points with an even wider smile. “Hey! You haven’t even taken a sip of whiskey and you’re already cutting me with your eyebrows. You’re feeling better already, I can tell!”

Lena wants to respond with something snarky but before she even think of a comeback, Sam is pulling her in the opposite direction of the lab and back to the land of the living.

The bar is hazy and loud, with a New England nautical theme that Lena finds charming, in a hole in the wall dive bar kind of way. The bartender is sporting a sailor hat, and it makes Lena want to ask for a double because she’s pretty sure if Sam has anything to say about it, they’ll both end up in sailor hats before the night is over, anyway.

It isn’t long before the red blush in Lena’s cheeks begins to correlate directly in response to the alcohol she’s consuming. She starts to feel herself loosening up enough to sway slightly to the music, her lips loosely tripping over lyrics that seem sort of familiar. The songs are catchy pop ballads from the 80’s and Lena is surprised at how many she recognizes, considering this isn’t something she would consider in her repertoire of music knowledge. Sam, however, is enthralled, bobbing her head and singing along under her breath to just about every song that’s played. Of course she knows the words, Lena thinks. This is all so very _Sam_. Pop music and lowkey cocktails and a bar with a simple atmosphere where no one cares who you are, so long as you like to drink.  

Lena looks over and Sam is already looking at her with a smile that might just jump off her face, as she orders another round with a wink. Lena is still brooding over her academic failures, but it’s a lot harder when Sam is standing in front of her, leaning casually against the wall and smiling like this is the best night of her life. 

Lena knows it has nothing to do with _her_ , that it’s just Sam’s face, and just Sam in general. She’s easy to please and genuinely happy most of the time anyway, but Lena feels the way her heart hammers strangely in her chest whenever Sam’s eyes catch hers. Sometimes Lena feels Sam looking at her when she doesn’t think Lena is paying attention, but she is, and she doesn’t mind because it’s Sam. Anyone else would make her feel anxious, but Sam is just… Sam.

A familiar melody of saxophone notes plays out over the speakers and Sam reaches eagerly for Lena’s hand, pulling her forward on to the dance floor next to the bar. 

“Sam, I don’t know how to dance!” Lena immediately argues, allowing herself to be pulled a few steps before trying to stop Sam from going farther. Despite extensive training on all sorts of instruments, and dancing with Lex at high profile Luthor functions, Lena is lackluster at best when it comes to having rhythm.

“I don’t either, we’ll just make it up!” Sam turns to her and smiles, and it’s so endearing and she’s so excited that Lena can’t find a reason to say no. “It’s George Michael, Lena. You can’t just _not_ dance to George Michael!” 

“What if I do it wrong?” 

“Then I’ll mess up too,” Sam says, pulling Lena a little closer as they find a spot with enough room for the two of them to stand.

“What? Don’t be silly, why would you do that?” Lena frowns, looking at Sam with confusion digging into her forehead.

“Well because that’s the funny thing about dancing with someone,” Sam says, leaning in closer and talking softly in Lena’s ear. Her breath is warm, and Lena can just about _feel_ the way her nose crinkles when she speaks, because apparently Sam’s face is just engrained in her memory now. “We’re kind of in this together."

Sam leans back and smiles, extending a waiting hand for Lena to take hold of. When Lena’s shaky fingers interlock with Sam’s, she feels the way Sam pulls her closer, her strong grip surprising even though it really shouldn’t be. Lena knows how strong Sam is, having witnessed it multiple times since they first met. Lena freezes slightly, her muscles involuntarily contracting and resisting against Sam at first, but Sam just watches her patiently and loosens her grip. It’s a natural reflex that Lena doesn’t even mean to do, just a habit to avoid getting closer to people. But Sam is steady, refusing to push any further, watching her with gentle eyes. Lena clears her throat and eventually allows herself to be pulled in until their bodies are flush against each other. From this angle, Lena can practically feel the excitement in Sam’s movements, and she notices the way Sam’s lips are toeing the line between simply smiling and bursting into laughter, which she notes is a trademark Sam expression. When Sam is happy, it’s almost like she’s thinking about a really funny joke that she’s about to share with anyone who will listen. She isn’t the kind to laugh _at_ you, but rather her enthusiasm is so infectious it pulls you in and makes you feel like you’re part of something exciting. Lena returns her smile with one of her own, and even though it’s dimmer and more reserved because she doesn’t really know exactly what she’s smiling at, it’s still something _real_. Normally, Lena feels like she needs a reason to be happy, like smiles are something that need careful planning and a list of explanations, but Sam manages to fill in the gaps for her, making it impossible not to feel hopeful. 

And isn’t that exactly what she needs right now?

Sam is surprisingly graceful for all her long limbs, and Lena is pleased at the way she carefully guides them around with easy steps. She whispers the lyrics as she watches Lena’s face, and even though her giddy smile never flickers, her eyes stay steady and intense.

_So I'm never gonna dance again, The way I danced with you..._

Sam sings it with such passion that Lena feels every beat, and tastes every note. She can’t help but wonder -- not for the first time -- what Sam really thinks about her, or about _them_. Sure, they definitely get closer the more they drink, and Lena is definitely more comfortable touching Sam than she is touching anyone else around her. But it’s more than that. There might be something more to their friendship than either one has verbally acknowledged, and Lena isn’t sure what to make of all that. She isn’t stupid, she knows the signs when someone has more-than-friend feelings, but the way they dance around this circumstance, quite literally at the moment, makes Lena wonder if they’ve already set themselves up for failure.

Can she really afford to lose Sam as a friend if she lets her foolish heart take over? Moreover, does she really have a choice?

Lena feels herself stumble, more over her thoughts than the dance, but Sam never falters and simply guides her with a perfectly placed hand on the shell of her hip. A hand that is suddenly scorching, because it is directly on Lena’s hip bone under the fabric of her shirt, and even though it’s because they’ve been shifting and moving around, Lena is very conscious of Sam’s fingers splayed out across her skin. Lena swallows heavily and looks up at Sam as the song ends. They’re both out of breath, Sam’s chest heaving slightly as she stares at Lena with a pensive look that Lena’s buzzed brain can’t seem to process. There’s _definitely_ something hanging heavily between them, and Lena doesn’t want to take a chance on figuring out what it is right this second.

So instead, she clears her throat and breaks the spell by offering to get them more drinks.

“Lena, do you know what time it is?” Sam asks later, carelessly slamming her glass down and glancing up lazily. Her eyes are starting to glaze a bit, but they’re still sparkling as she smiles.

Lena checks her watch. “11:35.”

“Hm, that doesn’t sound right,” Sam smiles, looking over her shoulder and back where the DJ is standing. She turns back to Lena with wide eyes. “I think it’s karaoke o’clock!”

“Sam, NO!”

“Lena, YES!”

“I hate you,” Lena replies, downing the rest of her drink and feeling the smooth fire as it scorches down her throat. “Fine, go ahead and sing, I’ll be here pretending I don’t know you.”

A new song starts to play, and Lena watches in horror as the DJ walks over and hands Sam a mic. She thanks him, and turns to Lena, flashing a wicked smile and waiting for the lyrics to show up on the screen across the room.

“Everyone knows this is a duet, Lena,” she says into the mic, and Lena’s face grows hot.

“Sam!” Lena cries out, waving her arms and shaking her head.  “Did I mention that I hate you?”

Sam grins cheekily, taking the mic and pulling Lena forward.

“ _Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick_ , _And think of you. Caught up in circles confusion-- Is nothing new…”_ Sam twirls with a flourish and winks, beckoning at Lena to join her. Lena crosses her arms and stares at her, carefully twisting her lips to contain the smile she doesn’t want to show.  

“Sam!” 

_“Flashback--warm nights--Almost left behind. Suitcases of memories.. Time after--”_

Sam turns away from Lena and starts to get really into it, running her fingers through her hair and singing dramatically like she’s throwing a concert at MSG. Lena wants to be embarrassed but Sam is just so _free_ and _fun_ that Lena can’t find it in herself to shut down anymore. She watches as Sam moves in perfect synchronization to the beat, her long legs moving fluidly as she turns to come back towards where Lena is standing. She grabs a second mic and walks back to where Lena is trying desperately not to smile.

_“If you're lost you can look--and you will find me... Time after time. If you fall I will catch you--I'll be waiting. Time after time…”_

Sam hands her the mic with an expectant grin, and Lena finally relents, taking it in her shaky hand. She surprises them both when she leans in close to Sam, mostly to keep from falling, and belts out the refrain like her entire life depends on it. Sam stops singing and watches with an amused smile, and Lena shrugs at her competitively as if this is the kind of thing she does all the time. 

The truth is, she’s never done karaoke in her life, and she knows she sings horribly off key, but Sam is looking at her like she’s absolutely _charmed_ and Lena feels like she just won a Grammy. Sam swings her around, and they both close their eyes and dramatically give the performance of a lifetime. Lena feels like she’s flying, the way her inhibitions have been chased away by loud music and alcohol, and when Sam takes her in her arms and dips her affectionately, Lena realizes she trusts Sam more than any other person in the world.   

Something shifts as the chorus dies down, the song slowing to its final few verses. Lena isn’t sure how they got to be standing so close, with Sam’s face practically an inch from her own and her hand softly on Lena’s hip. Her lips are fuller up close, and Lena focuses on the way they form around the words when she sings, the corners of her mouth still slightly turned up in a permanent smirk. The air is heavy between them, like this isn’t just fun anymore, like there’s more to what’s happening than just a silly song at a dive bar. Lena concentrates on Sam’s throat, and the tension in her neck that pulses with each syllable, instead of looking into her eyes. She’s pretty sure what she’ll find if she does that, and also terrified to be wrong.

The lyrics are suddenly palpable, like the words themselves are being etched into Lena’s skin as a tattooed reminder of everything she’s been afraid to feel. Sam practically whispers the words, and Lena can feel the way her lips quiver slightly.

_“Time after time…”_

Like how Sam has been there, literally catching her when she stumbles, ever since they first met.

 _“Time after time…”_  

Like how it’s Sam’s face that comes to mind whenever Lena thinks about easy happiness or things she shouldn’t allow herself to want.   

Lena’s just buzzed enough to forget to be cautious, and Sam’s drowsy eyes are wandering to her lips as she unconsciously licks her own. Lena feels warm all over, and Sam’s cologne is strong enough to push her into further intoxication. Sam leans forward just slightly, and Lena’s hand lazily trails up her hip and latches on to the front of her shirt, taking a fistful of the fabric and giving it a firm tug. It’s enough to pull Sam the rest of the way, and for warm lips to land directly on her waiting mouth.

Sam kisses the same way she does everything else -- fully, intensely and with passionate warmth. She isn’t reserved, and doesn’t wait for Lena’s reaction. She’s confident and easy, and has her mind made up, which leaves Lena perfectly happy to push against her movements and meet her tongue with easy flexible swirls of her own.

Before she is really aware of what’s happening, she feels Sam’s strong hands on her hips, guiding her backwards without breaking their kiss. Sam is chuckling into Lena’s lips, and Lena feels her own smile pushing against Sam’s teeth, and soon they’re away from the center of attention. Lena feels herself being pushed up against a wall, and in one fluid motion she curls her leg around Sam’s hips, pulling her impossibly closer, nipping at Sam’s lip with a smug grin as Sam’s thighs bracket around Lena’s standing leg. Lena wraps her arms around her neck, scratching slightly as she tries to find which part of Sam she wants to touch first. She can’t seem to make up her mind, though, because every part of Sam’s skin is smooth and soft, and the muscles along her neck and shoulders flex in ways that send a jolt straight to Lena’s core. Sam groans a little into her mouth when Lena’s fingers dig into her shoulder blades, and Lena throws her head back when Sam starts sucking on the vulnerable pulse point in her neck. 

“Sam…” Lena rasps, her fingers getting lost in the tendrils of her hair, pulling at her like she can’t get enough. Sam bites down on the sensitive skin of her neck and Lena hisses in response. Before she can retaliate, however, her head is bumping uncomfortably against the wall, which she realizes a beat too late is actually a staff-only door that is opening with terrible timing.

“Oh shit,” Sam mumbles, losing her balance slightly as Lena falls forward into her arms. She manages to keep them both upright, cradling Lena carefully and positioning her to the side. A server peeks around the door, his eyes as wide as saucers as he surveys the two of them.

“Oh! Ah-- sorry about that,” he says quickly. He bows at them -- actually _bows_ , and Lena has to cover her mouth to stop from laughing -- before turning to walk away.

“We were just getting to the good part!” Sam calls after him, dissolving into laughter and hiding her face against Lena’s neck. Lena grins as the man’s face turns a different shade of red, but she’s soon distracted by Sam’s tongue teasing along her jawline and toward the sensitive part of her ear. Sam’s ragged breaths come in waves as she kisses her way along Lena’s face, stopping only to whisper huskily in between airy laughter that makes Lena’s body quiver.

“This is one hell of an encore,” Sam whispers, and Lena feels warm and pliant, melting further into Sam’s strong arms. 

“You’re so bad,” Lena pulls back from Sam’s lips and strokes her cheek quickly, brushing the hair out of her eyes and taking particular pleasure in the way Sam’s cheeks are flushed and her lips are satisfyingly swollen. “Was I terrible?”

“At kissing? No, but I think I need to do more research,” Sam nudges Lena’s chin aside as she goes back to marking up her neck and Lena’s eyes flutter at the sensation.

“You’re a dork,” she manages to mumble, and Sam breathes out a laugh against her skin. “I meant at singing! I’ve never done that before!… “

“Never?” Sam pulls back and looks at her with disbelief. She smiles, then, warm and sunny and only slightly off-kilter from the liquor. ”It was perfect.”

Lena dips her head, embarrassed at the compliment, but Sam simply places her finger under Lena's chin and directs her gaze back upwards. 

"You're pretty close to perfect, Lena Luthor," Sam says, and there isn't an ounce of teasing in her voice. Lena swallows and chuckles awkwardly, because even in her wildest dreams, no one has ever called her  _that_. Sam offers out her arm and Lena folds easily into her side, as Sam steers them out of the crowded bar.

She opens the door to the outside and they're met with heavy air and wet, summer rain. Lena shivers involuntarily and Sam immediately takes off her jacket and places it over her shoulders. They're still going to get wet as they wait for a cab, but Lena just uses it as an excuse to seek refuge in Sam's open arms.

“Thanks for this...I…” Lena hesitates, trying to find the words but mostly just fixating on the way Sam's back muscles feel against her hands as she hugs her even closer. “I needed it.”

“Thanks for coming with me,” Sam says, and she squeezes around Lena’s waist like she actually _means_ it.

“I always have fun with you,” Lena confesses into Sam's shoulder, and she tries to hide behind a shrug, but the words manage to find their way out anyway. Sam tilts her head and her face softens just a little, letting Lena know her message -- and possibly the one she can't seem to say right now --  has definitely been received.

“I’m going to remember that,” Sam teases in response.

“I hope you do.”

Sam kisses the top of her head in acknowledgement and then turns to hand her phone to the bouncer before pulling Lena in closer. She readjusts her position and throws her lanky arm around Lena’s shoulder before pointing at the camera. “Quick, smile!”

Lena can’t tear her eyes away from Sam’s joyful face, and the way she latches on to Lena like she doesn’t want to let go. When the flash goes off, Lena is smiling harder and fuller than any picture she’s ever taken.

Xxxxxxxx

When the song ends, Lena comes back to herself, the happy memory still resting on her face in the form of warm cheeks and a bashful lip bite as she sighs in nostalgic contentment.

It’s something, Lena thinks wryly to herself, almost smiling outwardly. Not _all_ the memories of her past are laced with poison. There are a precious few preserved with care, wrapped delicately and tucked in the corners of her mind where even her most persistent demons don’t try to enter. That’s where Sam is kept, on the shelf next to what her brother used to be. It’s where the little voice of hope keeps residence, so that on her darkest days, there is still a little sliver of light that stabs into the darkness and shows her that humanity can be wholly good. That she can be more than fallen legacies and tear-stained apologies.

“You’re doing okay here, though? Getting settled?” Lena asks, turning to Sam and wondering what it must be like for her -- to pick up and leave for an opportunity that comes with such a price as having to be back in Lena’s presence again, and not even questioning _why_.

 “Yeah, I am,” Sam says, her voice dipping low with earnestness. “Thanks for taking a chance on me.” She taps Lena’s foot with her own, and Lena feels the tears prickle behind her eyes.

“You took a chance on me, once,” Lena says quietly, staring somberly across the room. “I haven’t forgotten, you know.” 

“I missed you when you left,” Sam says suddenly. She shifts slightly and rests her head on Lena’s shoulder, the way she used to do whenever they were finally alone after a long day. “A lot,” she adds with a watery whisper. Lena almost misses it as she gets lost in the way Sam’s cologne still smells the same, and the way she still fits in the space next to Lena like she never left.

“I missed you too, Sammy.”

It isn’t an apology, or an explanation, but it’s as true and as real as Lena can make it. And when Sam takes her hand and pulls it into her lap, Lena thinks that maybe, just maybe, they can find a way to rebuild from all the rubble they’ve left behind. 

Two wayward souls finally, finally finding their way home.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're lost you can look and you will find me.... @stennnn06


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